


rise in sorrow (the void sleeps)

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Depression, Derealization, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Oops, Panic Attack, Sort Of, depression is more implied than discussed, i love them, kinda a vent fic, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: shuichi saihara doesn't feel real.





	rise in sorrow (the void sleeps)

shuichi saihara heard the teacher dismiss the class for lunch. of course he did. aside from miu and kokichi whispering in the back of the class, the room was quiet. he knew that it was lunch time, and that meant that it was 12:25, and he knew that. he stood alongside everyone else, and registered kaito talking to him, along with maki standing on his other side. in the hallway, kaede slipped next to him, listening to kaito’s story and chipping in every once in a while. shuichi could hear the voices of kokichi and rantaro, too, one teasing kaito and the other laughing in a baritone pitch. shuichi knew all of this, the same way his friends knew this. because he was there, he was present.

except he wasn’t.

the hallway felt like it was extending infinitely, and he doesn’t have the energy to bring his eyes up from the floor. the tile pattern almost mesmerized him, and his vision went fuzzy the longer he focused. he blinked once, then a second time, then a third, all in rapid succession as he tried to eliminate the cause of his distance. he dug his nails in his hands, too, but nothing seemed to ground him. nothing worked.

his feet moved methodically, tracing the ground and laying an imprint on the school floors. when he graduated, a group picture of his class would be added to a collection of alumni photos. he would be there, on the wall, and he was there in the school. he was walking to the cafeteria, taking the right turns and the right path. but his mind focused on the group picture. he existed here. he existed at the front door, and at the back door, and in the dorms and the classrooms and the cafeteria. he existed, and that thought was simultaneously relieving and stressful. somewhere, he was leaving a mark on the overwhelming world.

he felt a bit of him crumble deep inside.

“hey, shuichi?” he heard rantaro speak, but he didn’t really hear it all the same. he knew his other friends were distracted, but rantaro always played close attention to detail, a silent observer. “you alright?” his voice was filled with concern, concern for shuichi saihara, who existed less as an entity and more as a pronoun. he was him, not specific and not really there and something you want to understand more but there’s nothing really there. he felt like a ghost.

“yeah, i’m fine.” he spoke as if he was speaking to those at his grave, stepping on grey tinted dirt and leaving rotting flowers. no matter where his mind wandered, it always came back to his death, and he never understood that. it wasn’t as if he wanted to die, he was thantophobic, but it always crossed his mind as a concept. something that existed that he’d have to encounter at some point.

he looked at his friends. one would die, of course, but who? would he be friends with them long enough to feel that pain? did he want to? would it be better to just leave his relationships, avoid those he cared for, so that he didn’t have to suffer through the ending? 

“you sure?” shuichi could see green eyes in front of his face, and he realized then that he was at the cafeteria. he was seated, and kaito was off getting food, and kokichi had followed him, and kaede had followed him, and maki gave shuichi a glance before she followed him, but rantaro just sat there, looking at him. 

“yes, i-” he suddenly felt a wave of… something. possessing him, turning him from fog that floated in the crevices of a school hall, to a dark grey mass, spiralling and circling. he wasn’t panicking, he knew what that felt like, and this wasn’t it. when he had an attack, he felt urgency, a desperation to breathe again. now, he felt lethargic, but he couldn’t breathe. something blocked his throat, filled his chest with muck, and he couldn’t breathe or see. it tasted bitter, and he wondered if he could swallow his tongue and his words and everything that made him  _ him _ . he pondered who would consume him first: the void or himself. 

lavender eyes meet his across the table, and a booming voice spoke clearly in his left ear. next to the loud was something soft, like a raven who pitied the road for having cars, and for having treenuts littered across the pavement, only to watch silently as the cars crashed together. another pair of purple eyes, this time darker and mischievous, sit on the cafeteria table. it’s against the rules, but shuichi is more concerned about the napkin that wasn’t touching the troublemaker’s leg but was close to it. it irritated him, and he was almost fearful.

the voices around him reach a crescendo, some joking and confident, some quiet and observant and deadly accurate, and some caring and protective and knowing. everyone asked how he was knowing the answer, knowing that he wasn’t okay, and there’s something so sad about that. 

when he heard an unfamiliar voice, followed by another and another before realizing that was the rest of his class, he broke. breaking took the form of a simple shake to the head, the opposite of a nod that was his default motion, something he did so much that it meant  _ nothing _ . his falling apart was simple and minor and they should have ignored it, but instead one hand reached across the table for his, small and pale with pianist fingers. someone clapped his back, and someone offered him an apple because he wasn’t eating anything and he couldn’t. an arm with bracelets and rings wrapped around his waist, asking first but he leaned into the touch. he felt a checkered scarf drop on his head, and a soprano voice chastised the guilty party, but shuichi pulled the piece of fabric to his chest and squeezed it as if it could replicate a heartbeat.

a motherly voice spoke a distance, asking if he needed anything, even if it was just a listening ear. a gruff and deep noise clashed with the calm, but the collision was almost perfect, as if he was finally feeling something. when a trio of girls, all speaking in different sounds, approached the table, shuichi felt a tear slip. when third-person-speech and a cryptic but therapeutic presence surrounded him, he felt another. a robotic code and a brash, crude joker, and suddenly he’s sobbing. 

an arm around his waist turns to two, and he buried his face in the neck of someone who smelled like cologne from a thousand countries and stories. it was ridiculous, what was occurring; something that happened because shuichi saihara didn’t feel real, and he doesn’t feel real, and there’s a kind of depression that follows that. despite the embarrassment and vulnerability he felt, it was comforting to know that so many people would abandon lunch to try and stop the fog from filling his veins and lungs, talk him out of what felt like a bridge and a trigger and a filled bathtub.

he always avoided being around people for too long, and maybe it was because he was reflected in their eyes. they cared, they talked, and they listened, and maybe he should stop trying to define the relationships and just simmer. 

simmer. 

he stopped crying, eventually, and the lunch bell rang, eventually. even though the time changed, nobody moved. he was still being hugged, and a hand was still holding his, and he was still being encouraged, and he felt so dumb but he felt so calm. the dark ugly pain in his chest was replaced with fog, but it was a different fog than the one suffocating him. it was blank space that could be filled with something else, like love and support. 

for a long time, he remained there, warm and safe. the teacher came, eventually, but the school was understanding and the breakdowns were known and shuichi didn’t have to scramble for an explanation. he felt a hand pat his head, and the heels of the professor clicked in the hallway with the promise that they would return to class soon (an hour or a few minutes, the door was always open).

“i feel real,” shuichi whispered, his voice rough and broken. rantaro squeezed him and kaito laughed happily, receiving a smile from maki, one that resonated in the air. kokichi made a joke and kaede let go of his hand, making a small comment that she should paint his nails. tsumugi and kirumi agreed with her, and soon conversation starts again, and shuichi doesn’t move but he laughed and smiled, and rantaro didn’t move from holding him. “i feel real,” he mumbled again, “am i real?” and he got a reply, soft and loving, despite his question sounding stupid and obvious.

“you’re real. you’re here. we’re glad you’re here, shuichi.” 

hazel eyes fluttered shut, not slipping into unconsciousness, but rather leaning into the gentle feeling of everything. rantaro commented that his eyelashes tickled his neck, and miu told them to get a room, and kokichi whined that rantaro was his. shuichi laughed, and then he laughed more, and he felt light and gentle and safe.

he was safe and loved and cared for. he was real, existing beyond the bounds of the school property and the thoughts in his mind and the void he fell into. he was in hearts and in jokes and in his entire identity, because this was who he was, and he was shuichi saihara.

the clouds passed, the day shifted, and people began returning to class, where a free period ensued and he confessed his thoughts to those who listened. and he hugged and he told a story and he felt. 

he was alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know if this is called dissociation or not, but breakdowns like this have been occurring a lot recently for me. just felt like venting, i guess. also, turns out today is shuichi’s birthday, so naturally i’m providing poorly written angst for it. mY gEnRe. happy birthday shuichi ily
> 
> anywho, yeah. i’m working on some longer multi-chapter fics, but they’re giving me some trouble, so it may be a bit before posting. i do have some cool au concepts i’m developing though, along with those long fics, if anybody cares. 
> 
> but yeah. i love hurt/comfort, and rantaro hugs sound phenomenal. have a nice day, everyone.


End file.
